


Dwell in death's shadow

by undercat



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Child POV, Damocles' Doom, Feanorian Family Feuds, Gen, mildly implied Fingon/Maedhros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:34:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28139256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undercat/pseuds/undercat
Summary: On the House of Feanor the wrath of the Valar lieth from the West unto the uttermost East.A child eavesdrops on an argument he was never meant to hear.
Relationships: Curufin/Curufin’s Wife
Comments: 21
Kudos: 25





	Dwell in death's shadow

**Author's Note:**

> Something of an alternate interpretation of both Celebrimbor’s childhood and the family dynamics around it.
> 
> Celebrimbor in this story was born in Beleriand; his mother is a woman of the Falathrim named Súlind. It’s set some time before the Bragollach (and thus before Maedhros being inspired by Lúthien stealing a Silmaril). Celebrimbor’s the equivalent of a nine year old or so in human years. I use Tyelpe throughout because of that: while Celebrimbor’s a fine name for an adult it’s awfully big to saddle a kid with.
> 
> Notes on language in the end notes.

The fortress of Himring was ascetic, its decorations austere. Yet Tyelpe found it did not lack in beauty, though it was a type unfamiliar, a beauty like the stark mountains the citadel sat among, pared down to the essentials of form, bones exposed. It made him curious about the people who had built it: he made a point to seek out the masons and architects – who apparently had worked in close collaboration with his uncle Maedhros – but he was greeted by everyone he saw, and drawn into conversation.

There were only two other children, and neither his age. Yet the adults he met were exceedingly kind and smiled so brightly at him, with faces and the light in their eyes both – some had made him toys and everyone had some sweet for him, and most of the questions he asked were answered. (But he took note of the ones they did not, and the answers that seemed to skirt about something.) They had questions for him too, but he found them a bit boring – did adults only think to ask him about what type of smith he would be when he grew up, and what games he liked to play? Tyelpe didn’t even like games, not unless they involved statistical analysis.

He answered their questions regardless, for he was interested in how the people of Maedhros spoke. It was Sindarin, but a different dialect than he himself used; others in Himlad spoke as those of Himring did, but his mother and uncle Borophor had taught him the dialect of the Falas and his father and uncle Celegorm Quenya (Huan had _not_ taught him Dog, but that didn’t count). But here people spoke the Sindarin of the north, after the speech of the Mithrim, with many words taken from Quenya though changed to suit the phonology of Sindarin. Tyelpe was trying to work backwards towards what the original form of the language might have been when the Sindar were still one people. He wished his father would critique his work, but he was spending most of his time with his uncle Maedhros, somewhat to Tyelpe's dismay: Maedhros scared him, a bit. He was grim and stern, and he had frowned initially to see Tyelpe before the expression had smoothed from his face, like a hand smoothing bumps from wet clay.

Still, it was in search of his uncle that he went, a fortnight after arriving. He supposed he should seek to better know his uncle, for they were kin and the comments the builders of the fortress made about Maedhros’s contribution to Himring’s forming made him curious about his aesthetic preferences.

Maedhros’s study wasn’t in the main building, but a side one, used for mostly for offices, salons, and studies, the tall tower that also housed Himring’s telescopes. He wondered if his mother liked it; she had mentioned before wishing to set up an observatory in the high mountains. He would ask her to take him stargazing there that night, he decided, for the moon was new and the winds and feel of the air promised no clouds and a clear sky.

Tyelpe was about to knock on the door of Maedhros’s office but he heard voices behind it: something in his heart stopped him. He looked around and saw no one, so he climbed up on a pillar set next to the door and pressed his ear to the wooden wall. More and more it seemed that people hid things from him and this fortress held more secrets still; mayhaps he would gain insight into those ungiven answers that troubled his thoughts. 

His father was speaking: “Celegorm was there for Tyelpe, of course, and Súlind’s family despite the distance, and two of our Arafinwian cousins, but where were my other brothers?”

Were they talking of his birth? He didn’t remember it, but also didn’t remember a time when his grandparents and Aegnor and Angrod had visited together.

“Well,” said Mother, “there was Maglor, and he came with gifts.”

“Instruments of torture, more like,” Father muttered. “Recorders, an out-of-tune keyboard, and _drums_. Thank the stars Tyelpe decided to take them apart rather than bang on them.” That had been fun, thought Tyelpe. Why hadn’t Father liked them?

“Be kind,” said his mother. “He also gave us a beautiful amber teething ring with ants set inside and a lovely stuffed dolphin. And the bracelets _you_ sent, Lord Maedhros, were beautiful, as was the blanket – our grateful thanks to you.” 

“They were,” Father allowed, a note of reluctant appreciation in his voice, “and thank you for commissioning them – I assume you provided the designs, since the embroidery echoed some of the themes I’ve seen in your paintings, and no one else would think to set the glow of an orc-warning in jewelry.”

“You’re welcome,” said his uncle Maedhros. “And more of us should put such enchantments on things for children. But you know Caranthir were busy repelling an orc excursion in Ard-Galen, and no messages reached Amrod and Amras till after the birth.” 

“Their inability to receive messages in a timely manner is its own concern. But even granting their excuse, don’t tell me that Caranthir couldn’t have left the defense to his very capable captains, and you don’t even have a meagre excuse such as the rest do. Again, why do our half-cousins care more about the birth of Father’s first grandchild than my brothers?”

“Are you seriously complaining about spending more time with your supposed friends Angrod and Aegnor than with Caranthir? Watch your tongue – they're allies we need, and if you too have managed to antagonize them -”

“This has nothing to do with them,” his father snapped. “Of course I'd rather see them than Caranthir: _you're_ the masochist. I'm complaining about how our cousins are better uncles than my brothers. _Huan’s_ a more involved uncle than you.”

“And a better one than Celegorm,” muttered Mother. “Huan never left a child up a tree to go talk to a badger.”

“I should have made more of an effort; I apologize.” It sounded like his uncle found that hard to say, and he ignored Mother’s aside; did he not care for badgers? If so, Tyelpe understood, not being fond them of himself.

“But aside from your particular complaint, why do you think there are so few children in Himring?” The question from Maedhros was clearly rhetorical, and Tyelpe perked up, awaiting the answer; he had wondered the same.

“Well,” said his mother, “I assume it would be difficult for you personally and would require a fair bit of biological innovation, but that’s no reason not to research further if you and the prince are so interested.” 

“Biolog- _what?_ But no, no. We have so few children because my people see the dangers. All of us in this fortress know the horrors that the Enemy can bring down upon us. Some hope more than others, but to bring a child into this world? It would be cruel beyond measure.

“And you and I, _Atarinke_ … we have far more to fear for any scions we have. We were both there when Mandos spoke his Doom: _on the House of Feanor the wrath of the Valar lieth from the West unto the uttermost East_. You would bring a child into the world, knowing he would fall under such a curse? What you condemn him to!”

Tyelpe heard some dull thud, but his mother's calm voice cut through, in Sindarin now, not Quenya.

“You goelydh and your talk of doom and curses-”

Tyelpe wondered why Mother had said _goelydh –_ she had told him it was a bad word, and rude.

“We make our own fates, and if your prophecies come true, it's your own doing. Look at Feanor: 'treason of kin unto kin.' He did that himself – your god of fate didn't _make_ him abandon his brother.”

“You weren’t there, Súlind, in Araman or Losgar,” Tyelpe's father said, also in Sindarin, “you can’t understand why Father had to leave them behind.”

“But she's quite right, brother,” said his uncle Maedhros. “He did betray our kin – as did we.”

“ _Someone_ did,” said Father. “Fingolfin might have named himself Finwe Ñolofinwe in Araman, but you were the one that gave him the actual crown.”

Tyelpe wished he knew what they were talking about – he didn't _like_ not understanding and his father sounded very angry.

“That’s not, that’s not what _matters_. Neither of you... neither of you _know_ the power of the Enemy, of what he can do,” said his uncle, raggedly, and Tyelpe thought of the scars on his face that appeared at times, the ones that had scared him. “In my heart lives such fear and pity for my nephew. Believe me when I say that we cannot win.”

“You think our cause is hopeless? You shame our father – _he_ never accepted defeat; would you betray him thus? We both swore an Oath, and _I_ shall not forsake it for fear. Remember: _not doom itself shall defend him_. There is a great power in that, and Morgoth shall not escape _its_ curse, sworn as it was to Iluvatar; I shall follow our father’s words.”

“Leave aside oaths and filial duty,” his mother added. “I don’t think you have enough imagination. Why shouldn’t we defeat Morgoth? Angband is a prison imprisoned; we have time. You focus too much on strength of arms. Attacking Morgoth and the lesser Powers he commands isn’t like slaughtering fishermen to steal their boats: I’m unclear as to why you think you need to fight a god the same way. Give some more thought to potential anti-Ainu technology and other means of attack; I know _I_ have.”

“No, it’s not like slaughtering fishermen,” said Maedhros, quiet now.

“It is not. Morgoth’s armies fight with more than fish-spears; Orcs are not so easy to slaughter; stop trying to fight like Angband is Alqualonde and _innovate_.”

“Alqualonde again?” said his father. “You agreed that it was the most expedient choice.”

 _Swan-harbor,_ thought Tyelpe. It was a Quenya word: had Valinor seaports too, like where his grandparents lived? It must, for while the Havens had been besieged there had been no slaughters in Círdan’s lands, nor were there swans in Brithombar or Eglarest. Perhaps King Finwe was not the only person Morgoth had killed in Aman.

But his mother was speaking, “Had you sailed immediately it would have been the right path. But how long did you linger? And when you sailed, you left your kin behind, and with them their swords.”

“Of course we did! Fingolfin and his had betrayed our father, and Father burned the boats so that none of ours could fail their courage. And it was you and yours that we saved at the Dagor-nuin-Giliath,” his father snapped before softening. “That is why I could never wish it otherwise, even if it be evil. Had we spared our false friends the Teleri and crossed the ice it would have been too late for you.”

There was a chill pause, before Tyelpe’s father spoke again, softer now.

“Perhaps it was rash in some ways. I do regret that _some_ of our kin and friends had to brave the ice. But not Fingolfin. You surrendered the kingship, brother, but till then he was a usurper: Father was right to not trust him, he who betrayed Father.” 

“It was _our_ betrayal,” Maedhros snapped back, “and worse, foolishness! We left behind an army. Father died in part for that.”

“Foolishness indeed,” said Mother coolly. “Do not say you are without sin: I see why the gods would speak a curse upon you, murderers and thieves that you are, however just the cause was. No, I will not argue with that, for all that I think the only power in Mandos’ words lies in the power you put in them. My dispute is over the child my husband and I were blessed to have been given, for I fail to understand why whatever doom your jailer-god of death proclaimed has such power over our collective fates, over _Tyelpe’s_ fate.”

Tyelpe shivered; there was a chill upon him. He didn’t particularly like this conversation, for it made him scared and he disliked when his parents quarreled – why would Mother name Father a murderer? But he kept listening, certain there were answers here.

“Forget fate then,” said his uncle, sounding very tired. “Forget even Morgoth’s great orc armies if you will. But slowly he seeps his malice into the very stones and earth of this land, and in his great dungeons breeds foul creatures, and he has Maiar fouler still sworn to him. Brother, sister, I _saw_ his iron-hells, and there were children in them, tormented; how quickly they died! Good or ill the end may be; before it comes there will be pain and death.”

“Do you ever, _ever_ think I would let our son _die?_ ” Tyelpe’s father sounded more furious than he had ever heard.

There was a harsh laugh. “Of course he'll die: we all will. What else is there to do here but die? _Hekeldamar_ , we called this land when we lived in Aman, the place of the forsaken. True enough, but we should have named it _Loikormar_ , home of corpses, or _Qualmenor,_ the country of tormented death.”

“‘Tormented death’, hmm?” said his mother, airy and angry, “Strange. I have lived here my entire life and heretofore thought the place of my birth and the place of my people was named Beleriand, a land of beauty, not torment. How mistaken I was! How fortunate am I that the great wisdom of the Goelydh correct me, that such a great lord from across the sea tell me what to name my home.”

“What else should it be called?” snarled Maedhros, and Tyelpe flinched. He went on more quietly. “Your people, Súlind, name themselves the _eglain_ ; why wouldn’t the forsaken people live in a forsaken land?”

Mother answered, much fiercer now, “It was not the land that forsook us, for it is fair and well-loved, but the Belain and those that followed them. Did anyone in your walled paradise consider sending another island? And my _child_ , his father and I will give him the _world_ , with all its beauty and splendor, not _death_ – our Celebrimbor is not _forsaken,_ whatever you think your gods decree. He will make great works, discover great things, labor to unmar Arda, not bemoan that he be not in paradise while not lifting a hand to make the world fairer and sweeter. I shall see to it; your golodhren philosophy of despair will not be his.”

“He’s not Doomed either,” added Father. “You and I may be, brother (though I think an Oath to Eru stronger than the words of Mandos; Father’s words have power enough to see that we prevail), but my son wasn’t alive when Mandos spoke. We rebelled against the Valar; Súlind was forsaken by them. Only one of their kind dwells on these shores and he is our enemy. The gods have forgotten this land; why should they care one whit about us?

“Besides,” he went on, “do you long for us to be captives in a caged land again? Here the waters flow sweet under the stars, as they did in Cuiviénen. We will defeat Morgoth and live free of the gods, in a land of our own: that is what Súlind and I will give our well-loved son.”

There was a ragged sigh from Maedhros. “Would that I had your faith. But even estel has left me. Forgive me, but I see no hope for any of us. I pity my nephew; it is not his fault that he too lies under the curse set on our family. Better he had not been born. We are all of us Doomed, and he at least doesn’t deserve it.”

Whatever answer came, Tyelpe did not hear, for there were footsteps behind him and he turned his head to look. It was his uncle Celegorm – he must have made his steps loud on purpose; they were usually silent.

“So you did listen to my lessons on how to climb,” his uncle said, grinning.

Tyelpe smiled wanly. He didn't particularly feel like it, but it was as ever hard not to smile back at his uncle.

Celegorm looked at the door – there were still voices behind it, but quiet enough now that the words couldn't be made out. He sighed.

“Let's get out of here, hmm?” He reached up to get Tyelpe down from the pillar; Tyelpe clung to his neck. He was too old for Celegorm to carry, but for a moment he wished he were not. Celegorm's grip went tight for a moment, but he set him down.

“I was planning on introducing you to some of my dove friends; let’s go make our greetings, hmm?”

When they had walked some distance, Tyelpe turned to his uncle. He wanted to say something, but... He bit his lip.

“You can ask me anything, you know,” said Celegorm lightly.

Tyelpe stayed silent for a moment. He wanted to _know,_ but speaking could make thoughts real in a way they would not otherwise be. Still:

“Was it bad that I was born?”

His uncle said a word that he'd never heard before, his voice sharp and vicious. Tyelpe made a mental note to ask him about it later – it was not Quenya or Sindarin, and the sounds clanged in his ears, ugly but not scary. Later, though, it was not what he really wanted to know, not now, not what he was afraid of knowing.

“Is that what... Of course not. Where did you...” Celegorm followed Tyelpe's gaze back towards where his other uncle's office was.

He sank down and raised a hand to Tyelpe's cheek. “No,” he said. “You're a blessing. Do you think that you shouldn't be here?”

Tyelpe bit his lip again. “No?”

“Well, there you go. We both agree, then, and since you're far cleverer than me, if you say so I must be right.” He searched Tyelpe's eyes for a moment. “You're far cleverer than any of your other uncles, too – comes from your mother, clearly – so don't listen to them if they're being foolish. Now let's go meet my friends the birds. I promise, they’re quite nice.”

In the dovecote, Celegorm was showing him how to attach notes to a bird’s leg – it _was_ being nice; his uncle had chirped at them when they had come in – when his parents found them. They were not holding hands.

“Ah, Tyelpe, there you are!” said Mother. “We were looking for you – we thought we might leave Himring early; I'll help you pack.”

“Already?”

His father smiled. It was not his usual smile; his face looked tight, so Tyelpe just nodded. He was fond of questions, but right now he did not think he wanted to ask _why._

So instead he asked, “Can I ride Huan? I don't like ponies. They smell.”

“Ask him,” said his father. “You may if he lets you.”

“I don't speak _Dog –_ how will I-”

Celegorm laughed. “I'll translate. And I can be persuasive,” he said with a wink.

“Alright,” said Tyelpe. He knew they were leaving because of him and felt bad, but tried to hide it. “Where are we going next?”

“Hmm,” his father said. “Would you like to go exploring?”

“I know I would,” said Mother, winking at him. “There are so many interesting things to see in Beleriand. Perhaps we could travel along the rivers; would you like that?”

Tyelpe would: he liked maps and how they did and did not capture how the land lay.

“What makes rivers rivers?” he asked. “Is it just that a sufficient amount of water accumulates such that the ground can’t take it all up, and elevation shifts make them flow rather than collect in a lake?”

“Partly elevation, yes,” Father said, “but also-”

His mother interrupted, “How about we explore so you can draw your own conclusions, and then we can discuss them.”

“Sounds good,” said Father, reaching out to tousle Tyelpe’s hair. “Your mother and I like so much to hear what you think.” 

Mother smiled, looking happier now. “In fact, let’s follow the Gelion south. We can study some of the rivers that flow from Ossiriand, cut across the Andram, and follow the coast north up to Brithombar to spend some time your grandparents: would you like that?”

They would take such a long and circuitous route to Brithombar, clear on the other side of Beleriand, and not go through Doriath (which he had only seen on a map and should like to see with his eyes), or along the northern mountains? It would be nice to visit his grandparents, but... “Will Grandfather make me go fishing with him on his boat?” Tyelpe asked, dubious. He hoped not: he did like learning from his grandfather, who studied the sea’s creatures, but sailing made his stomach twist, almost as much as it had when Uncle Celegorm had failed to cook a chicken through.

His parents looked at each other, an odd expression on both their faces. Tyelpe still didn't know what it meant and an inarticulate frustration arose within him.

“No,” Mother said, with that strange tight smile, “no boats.”

**Author's Note:**

> It seems common to have Celebrimbor be close to all of his paternal family. I wanted to explore a different interpretation, where the only paternal uncle he’s close to is Celegorm, and what resulted was this. It is not at all my intent to portray Maedhros in a negative light: I think his perspective is entirely reasonable and hopefully comes across as sympathetic.
> 
>  _Tyelpe_ – a non-canonical but defendable nickname for Celebrimbor, the Quenya version of which is Tyelperinquar. Tyelpe fits, more or less, with Tolkien’s nicknames we do have. It should arguably be Tyelpo, but Tyelpe sounds better so imo it is a perfectly reasonable choice and Tolkien himself gave the Elves the concept of lamatyáve. I thought about having Súlind call him Celebreg (“little-silvery-one” in Sindarin) but decided to back away from going full hog with language stuff.
> 
>  _Atarinke_ – Curufin’s mother-name. It means ‘little-father’.
> 
>  _Goelydh_ is the plural of _golodh_ , one of the Sindarin words for the Noldor. It has a pejorative connotation; godhel (pl. _goedhil_ ) is the form the Noldor preferred. _Gelydh_ is the 3rd Age pronunciation, by which time Standard Sindarin had lost its mid front rounded vowel.
> 
>  _Hekeldamar_ \- lit. 'forsaken-elf-home'. It was what the Elves in Aman called Beleriand.
> 
>  _Loikormar_ – lit. 'corpse-pl-home'.
> 
>  _Qualmenor_ – lit 'death-land'. _Qualme_ means 'death' and has connotations of a tormented or horrible death, not a peaceful one.
> 
>  _Eglath, Eglain_ – lit. 'forsaken ones, forsaken people.' A name the Falathrim gave themselves.
> 
>  _Belain_ – one of the Sindarin word for the Valar
> 
>  _Golodhren_ – the adjectival form of golodh, meaning ‘Noldorin, of the Noldor (pej.)’.
> 
>  _Estel_ – hope, faith unsupported by evidence. Contrasts with _amdir_ (hope supported by reason/evidence).


End file.
